


Standing Date

by sariane



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint is jealous, Get Together, Humor, M/M, Phil & Natasha BROTP, alternate title: 'IDK My BFF Phil', somewhat cracky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 12:37:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1605461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sariane/pseuds/sariane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha and Phil have been hanging out a lot lately -- without Clint.</p>
<p>Clint isn't jealous. He's just, concerned, you know? Who knows what they're getting up to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Standing Date

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for a prompt [on my tumblr](http://sarriane.tumblr.com/post/85156551375):  
> [rocketwalker](http://rocketwalker.tumblr.com/): Phil and Nat hanging out, and Clint is sort of suspicious... either they're going to mess with him or finally try and take over the world.
> 
> This isn't exaaaactly the prompt, but I don't think I have it in me to write about Clint and Phil without making it Clint/Coulson. I had a lot of fun with it. :)
> 
> This fic is set some unspecified time before The Avengers.
> 
> Warnings:  
> \- minor canon-typical violence

Clint is in the _zone._ He’s only a fourth of the way through his quiver, but every arrow has more than met its mark. He’s taken out at least half of the evil goons in the warehouse below him (Phil and Natasha are on the ground, working on the rest; Clint’s crouched on a support beam).

Ever hear that “two birds, one stone” phrase? Clint _invented_ that saying. Literally.

_“Hawkeye,”_ Coulson says into the comms. Clint looks over to where he’s fighting off some gigantic guy. _“Little help, here.”_

“Sure thing, sir,” Clint smiles. “Knew you’d need me to rescue you eventually.”

Clint nocks a grappling hook arrow and shoots for a support beam. He grabs onto the rope and jumps off his perch, swinging towards Coulson Tarzan-style. Clint throws all of his body weight into Coulson’s attacker, throwing the guy to the ground and knocking him unconscious with a kick to the head.

Smiling, Clint lets the rope slip between his fingers and lands in front of Coulson.

“I meant for you to slow him down, not come down here,” Coulson said, unimpressed.

“Aw,” Clint laughed, “you know me, Coulson, I can’t leave a damsel in distress.”

“Please, Barton, you’re the most distressed person I know,” Natasha says, walking up to them. When Clint looks around, the rest of the goons are spread out unconscious on the floor. Natasha is holding the 0-4-8 they’ve been sent to pick up.

“Hey, is that that little idol from _Indiana Jones_?” Clint asks as she drops it into a containment case.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Phil says, shaking his head, “the idol from _Raiders of the Lost Ark_ is gold.” Clint snorts fondly.

“Let’s get out of here,” Natasha says, heading towards the door with Phil. Clint trails behind, picking up some of his arrows on the way.

“We still on for tonight?” he overhears Phil asking Natasha.

“Seven sound good?” Natasha asks.

“As long as the debrief doesn’t last too long,” Phil smiles.

“Um, am _I_ invited?” Clint asks, running up behind them to catch up.

“No,” Natasha says over her shoulder with a smirk. “Grown-ups only.”

*

Two weeks later, Natasha turns down Clint’s offer to get lunch without explanation.

“I already made plans,” she says when he pushes. She shuffles through her purse for her lipstick with total lack of interest in his pouting expression.

Clint sighs and pushes himself up onto the office desk. He’s been using Coulson’s office to hide from Maria Hill today, but the man himself is off on lunch break.

“Plans?” Clint deadpans. “Don’t we have a standing appointment? Wednesdays? Starbucks? Hipster-mocking?” He watches as Natasha applies the dark red lipstick perfectly without even looking in a mirror.

“I mock you on a daily basis,” Natasha says lightly. “We don’t go out that much, Clint. Come on, I promise we’ll have lunch tomorrow, after I whoop your ass in the gym. _That’s_ our standing appointment.”

“Where are you going, anyways?” Clint asks, crossing his arms and feeling a little petulant. He doesn’t mind, not really. He has paperwork to fill out for Coulson anyways. It’s the principle of the thing.

“Some place where you are _not_ going to show up,” Natasha threatens. “Seriously.”

“Okay, okay,” Clint huffs, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Have fun,” he grumbles as she snaps her purse shut and heads for the door.

“I plan on it,” Natasha says as she heads out of the office.

“Wait,” Clint yells after her, jumping off Coulson’s desk. “You aren’t going on a _lunch date_ , are you?” he calls, sticking his head out the door.

“Do you even _have_ an inside voice, Barton?” Agent Sitwell says as he passes, carrying a black briefcase marked ‘Top Secret’ to some undisclosed location.

Scowling, Clint heads back into Coulson’s office, slamming the door shut behind him.

He leans against the door for a moment before he gets an idea.

*

Somehow, he manages to catch up with Natasha before she leaves the SHIELD building. He trails her at a distance from there, following her through the lobby and down a few blocks to a little café they’ve eaten at once or twice. For about ten minutes, he watches her sitting at an outside table in the warm sunlight, sipping lemonade and waiting on her lunch date.

He’s so focused on Natasha that he almost misses Coulson approaching from down the block. Clint ducks behind a car, poking his head up just enough to watch Phil through the window.

Phil walks past him on the sidewalk and heads into the café. Sure enough, he reappears a moment later, joining Natasha at her table.

“ _Sonnuvabitch_ ,” Clint mutters, glaring down the block at the two of them, happily chatting away over lunch. He’s startled a moment later when his phone buzzes with a new text message.

_Just for stalking me, lunch is on you today_ , reads Natasha’s text.

Clint straightens to his full height and glares over at Natasha in the café, where she’s laughing at something Phil has said. He didn’t even notice her sending the text.

_Yeah, right_ , Clint texts back bitterly. _Shouldn’t your date pay?_

_Not when: A) I’m not on a date and B) I have your credit card._

Swearing, Clint turns on his heel and stomps back to SHIELD, where he certainly _doesn’t_ sulk around Coulson’s office for the rest of the lunch hour.

*

After that, lunch/dinner/movie/coffee –dates become kind of a thing with Phil and Natasha. Clint isn’t invited to any of them, not that it’s any of his business. The three of them still go out drinking after hard missions, like they always have.

This week, it’s Natasha’s turn to choose the venue. She chooses a bar she likes, a little hole-in-the-wall place where the bartender greets her by her name and a string of thanks in another language (Russian, maybe?).

Of course, it’s also karaoke night.

“God, this is awful,” Natasha smiles into her beer. “You should go up there, Clint, show ‘em how it’s done.”

“No,” Clint says, shaking his head. “Haven’t had _that_ many yet.”

“You sing?” Phil asks. He turns to Clint with some surprise.

“In the shower,” Clint chuckles after a moment. “Private concert only. I don’t do karaoke.”

“Coward,” Natasha scoffs good-naturedly.

“I’d like to hear you sing,” Phil says, tilting his head to the side. Natasha catches Clint’s eye and hides a smile in her glass, taking a long drink while he puzzles over it.

“I’ll be right back,” Natasha murmurs, eyes darting to Phil before she heads off to the ladies’. Clint watches how Phil’s eyes follow her.

“Well, I guess you’ll have to get used to disappointment, like me,” Clint laughs, a little sourly. If Phil notices, he doesn’t say anything, but he looks thoughtful.

“What if I sang something?” Phil asks. “I’ll go first. You can choose the song.”

“Really, Coulson, I don’t –“

“You can call me Phil, you know,” he interrupts. Clint blinks.

“I, uh,” Clint says awkwardly. “You’re my handler, Coulson.”

“Not now,” Phil says, “not tonight. Natasha calls me ‘Phil.’”

“Yeah, but,” Clint hesitates. “She’s Natasha.” Sighing, Phil looks down into his beer and takes a drink. In the heavy silence, Clint feels the sudden need to fill the air. “You guys are, y’know, anyways. Of course she calls you by your first name.”

“You know?” Phil repeats. He shakes his head like a wet dog. “Barton – Clint – Natasha and I aren’t dating.”

Clint takes a moment to digest this, then almost sighs in relief.

“Good,” he says, knocking back what’s left of his beer.

Phil gives him a weird look. After a moment, he says carefully, “Karaoke?”

Clint lets Phil pick the song.

*

“So, if they aren’t dating, and they aren’t spying on anyone, what are they doing?” Clint says out loud, pacing back and forth. “What is so important that they have to hide it from me?”

“People do have lives outside you, Barton,” Sitwell sighs. He leans over his desk, tapping his pencil in annoyance at Clint. “Including me.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Clint says, ignoring him. He paces the length of Sitwell’s office, turns on his heel, and walks across it again. “They’re both so secretive about it. You know Ph – Coulson, he’s always a bit weird about his personal life, like that cellist he dated awhile back. Natasha won’t tell me a thing.”

“Maybe she’s not telling you to get revenge,” Sitwell suggests. “Revenge for bothering her when she’s busy doing something _very important._ ”

“Or, maybe she’s working on something with Coulson,” Clint says darkly. “World domination. If anyone could achieve that over a few coffee dates, it’s those two.”

“Please,” Sitwell snorts. “Phil Coulson is the _last_ person who’d try to achieve world domination.”

“You’re right,” Clint sighs, collapsing on Sitwell’s couch. “They’re probably plotting to murder me.”

Sitwell rolls his eyes.

*

“And, on October twentieth, I received a complaint from Agent Ward. He said you’d programmed the range’s hover-targets to attack the next person to use them and beat them over the head repeatedly,” Maria Hill reads through gritted teeth. “November second – Barton, are you even listening to me?” she snaps, looking up from the file.

“Shhh, I’m trying to hear this,” Clint hisses, pressing the earpiece into his ear canal.

He had managed to fashion a slingshot from a rubber band, duct tape, and some pencils, and had _borrowed_ a bug from R &D.

Said bug was now stuck to the hem of Phil’s suit jacket, broadcasting his conversation with Natasha from across the cafeteria. Hill had found Clint lurking behind the salad bar and chosen that moment to berate him about the finer aspects of being a SHIELD agent.

“What are you – oh, god,” Hill rolls her eyes when she follows his gaze across the cafeteria to Phil and Natasha. “You two need to stop mooning over each other, it’s just pathetic.”

“Shhh,” Clint hisses.

_“—just don’t think it’s a good idea,”_ he hears Phil say as he picks at his salad.

_“Good idea? Come on,”_ Natasha laughs. _“Nothing involving Barton is a good idea. Doesn’t mean it’s a_ bad _one.”_

_“What do you expect me to do?”_ Phil asks, sounding discouraged. _“Say, ‘Hello, Agent Barton, can you please turn in that mission report you owe me, I need it to write my quarterly analysis of your work performance? Oh, and by the way, would you like to go out on a date with me this Friday?’”_

“YES!” Clint yelps suddenly, punching his fist in the air. Hill scowls at disapprovingly.

He looks over the salad bar to see Phil and Natasha staring at him from the other side of the cafeteria. Phil is frozen with his fork posed halfway to his mouth, looking at Clint like he’s just grown an extra head.

Suddenly, Clint realizes he’s yelled. _Ah, what the hell_ , he shrugs.

“YES!” Clint calls across the suddenly hushed cafeteria. “I would! Pick you up at six?”

Phil blinks in confusion for a moment before Clint’s words catch up with him. He nods once, slowly, never breaking eye contact with Clint from across the room.

“Oh. My god,” Maria Hill mutters to herself, probably giving him up as a lost cause.

With a wink, Clint turns to leave the cafeteria, leaving Phil to blush red and mutter something unintelligible at Natasha.

_“You’re dead, Barton,”_ he hears Natasha say into the bug after she’s picked it off Coulson’s jacket. “ _I hope you’re proud of yourself.”_

He knows Natasha can’t hear his reply, but Clint can’t help but grin as he walks into the hall.

Yes. Yes he is.

*

(Once Phil gets over his initial embarrassment and lets Clint take him out, Clint finally asks if he and Natasha really spent all that time together talking about _him._

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” Phil says impassively, not looking up from the menu.)

 

_Fin._


End file.
